“Well, trust me, nobody’s gonna recognize you right now,” Molly’s brother, Grant Ramsey, chuckled, eyeing the younger man sitting across from him. “Exactly who are you hiding from, though? Based on what Dev here has told me, I don’t exactly think Armando is combing the streets for you. Besides, I’m fairly certain Mannie might revoke your gay card if he saw you in that get-up. Redneck gangsta thug is not in your color wheel, my friend.”
“Look, I’m not exactly trying to hide from anybody. Not really,” Nick muttered into his glass. “I’m just not necessarily trying to draw attention to myself right now, thank you both very much. I’m just not interested in advertising my presence back in Atlanta. At least not until I figure out how to explain to Armando about my fucked up family. Besides, I was actually really comfortable for a change on the flight into town. I told Mannie that there was something to be said for casual clothing, but he insists that clothes make the man.”
Devil snorted as he tilted his beer in the direction of the other man. “Son, at this moment, you’re damned lucky I like you. Otherwise, I’d have taken out a damn billboard over your head the second you deplaned over at Hartsfield-Jackson and pointed the four Musketeers your way. Despite your well-thought-out disguise as a straight man, I don’t think it’d distract them for long.”
“I might not fool the man I love and his three best friends, but it’s not them I’m trying to avoid. It’s the rest of Atlanta that I’m trying to dodge. Being stopped twelve times a day and congratulated on my upcoming nuptials was fun as hell when I was positive I had a groom waiting in the wings for me. Now, not knowing if I can even begin to gain Armando’s forgiveness….I don’t exactly feel like playing the gushing gay groom of the year, you know?”
“Ohhhh, you’re gonna fix this,” Devil growled back, leaning forward to clutch his highball glass of scotch with one hand. “That’s not negotiable,” he informed the younger man while he waved one hand in the air, signaling the waitress for a refill. “Seriously, I’m going to have to insist that you pull your shit together and commence kissing whatever you need to kiss to get Armando from my house back into YOUR house,” he informed the younger man while he waved one hand in the air.
“You think I don’t want that?” Nick asked, sounding desperate. Running a hand down his unshaven cheek, he shook his head. “I’ve called his cell at least fifty times. I’ve left him over two dozen voice mails. And that’s not even mentioning the texts I’ve sent. Devil, he won’t talk to me. For God’s sake, YOU, my boss, picked me up from the airport while my boyfriend did what? Nursed his grudge toward me?”
“And a killer hangover from what I’ve heard through the grapevine,” Grant whispered conspiratorially, winking at Devil. “But, if it makes you feel any better, your trusty boss , here,” he continued, jerking his head toward Devil, “is nursing a fairly serious case of blue balls so, really, it could be worse, right? Evidently, prior to your fiancé’s appearance last night, it was also going to be the night the Devil got to go back into Georgia for a little horizontal dancing, if you know what I mean. Have some sympathy for the Devil, man; eight weeks feels like a year where sex is involved.”
Gaping at his best friend, Devil shook his head. “What are you? A woman?” he asked Grant, silently debating how a brilliant obstetrician could so quickly devolve into a prepubescent girl when there was gossip involved. “You do realize that my wife is your SISTER, don’t you?”
“Honestly, sometimes I forget,” Grant replied with a slight shrug as he propped his chin in his hand and smiled benignly across the table at Nick. “Honestly, being Devil’s best friend can be a tough job at times, and he’s been cranky of late. Your Armando’s descent into madness last night prevented your boss from descending into my sister’s charms.”
“I seriously did not need to know that status of my boss’s balls or how often he visits Georgia or how he dances when he arrives there,” Nick yelped, glaring at Grant’s amused face. “I don’t care how gay I am, that is not information I ever want to possess,” he proclaimed with a shudder as he ripped off his baseball cap and shoved a hand through his thick, wavy hair. “Damn it! Aren’t you two paying attention? I’m in crisis here.”
“You’re in crisis?” Devil asked indignantly. “No. Let me tell you about crisis. Crisis occurs when you’ve managed to convince your reluctant wife to allow her parents to babysit your daughter for the night...when you finally get her all to yourself. You’re not sharing her with your child or with your mother-in-law or with her two gal pals from hell or her gay bestie. Nope, you’ve finally got all her attention on you. Imagine it, Nick,” Devil demanded dangerously, “You’ve almost reached the Passionate Promised Land and the long, draining sexual draught is almost over. Hot sex can be seen on the horizon, man! She’s naked….and SO. ARE. YOU. You’re that close! And then your moment gets busted all to hell because that guy – we’ll call him shithead #1 - that you hired neglected to tell that OTHER guy you employee – we’ll call him shithead #2 – that he never shared his sexual orientation with his stick-up-their-collective-asses parents. Now, you might imagine what I imagined at the time….you know, that none of this was my problem. But you’d be WRONG! So very fuckin’ wrong. Wanna know why it became my problem? Because my Molly said it was!” Devil finished on a roar that drew stares from the surrounding tables. “That’s a fuckin’ crisis, Nick!”